Remember When?
by Tinsadisaster
Summary: [INPROGRESS] Remember when you loved me? DMHG
1. Remember When

Remember When

**Tinsadisaster**

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**

Summary: Remember when you loved me? DMHG

Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling but the plot is a little bit my idea and a little bit everyone else's. Do you understand what I mean? Yeah.

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You look beautiful.

You're staring at yourself in front of the mirror, pulling a loose curl back into place and smoothing down the front of your dress. I can see your eyes glitter as if you could upstage the stars' fantastic shimmer and I feel tears form in my eyes and a sob rise from within me.

You are Hermione Granger, soon to be Hermione Granger Weasley.

And I am Draco Malfoy, the boy you loved and the one whose love you forgot.

Perhaps this was the day I was always talking about in Hogwarts. I had said, as a young, rebellious brat, that there would never be a day where I would be jealous of Ronald Weasley for I owned more galleons than him, therefore owning worlds more. And now that I think of it, I feel like a hypocrite.

I do envy Ron Weasley. His vault does not hold as much galleons as mine and his cloaks are not as refined as mine but his life is much happier than mine and the reason is that he has _you_.

You were once my world, a lifetime ago, but time has passed and I have learned it stops for no man, no matter how many golden coins he owns or how he helped Harry Potter save the world.

Yes, that's true. I helped Harry Potter save the world; I, the son of a Deatheater and murderer, the spy who Voldemort trusted with his secrets, the man who killed his own godfather. Yet, I am a hero. My name is printed in the newspapers and I was given highest awards for my contribution in the downfall of the darkest wizard that ever lived. My name is written on the stones of history and the tide will not wash it away into obscurity.

But your name is written on the stone that is my heart. Your words have been ingrained into my mind, though you have no recollection at all. Your touch has been burned deep within my skin and it keeps me warm on the coldest of winter nights. I have seen your soul, Hermione, and I can honestly say that is one thing Ronald Weasley will never see or own in his lifetime.

I have seen the very essence of you and I have let you seen the very essence of me. We have shared a bond that could destroy Voldemort a dozen times over. That bond was destroyed, though, by the hands of my own flesh and blood. I will never forget the night your love was taken away from me for it was the worst night of my life.

And now, I think I'm reliving it all over again.

I walked into the room with Harry, who kept tinkering with his bow tie. Though Harry is not longer my rival, I can still say that he has no fashion sense at all and is completely stupid. He confirmed this himself.

You turn around, though you had much trouble due to the silly puffiness of your white dress. You squeal and attempt to run over to us but you are kept in place.

"Now, we wouldn't want the lady of the evening to be pictured with the silliest bruise on her face, now would we, Harry?" I hear myself say. Harry grinned and rushed over, hugging his friend. I copied Harry, though my embrace was extremely better than his.

I hug you, in hopes that perhaps this will jumpstart your memory. I pull you away at arm's length and peer into your deep, chocolate eyes and for a second, a flicker of _something _appears and as suddenly as it appears, goes away. I am hopeful now.

_You remembered, didn't you?_

"I'm just so nervous. And this dress is absolutely horrible; I can barely walk! How will I manage down to the alter?" you say, a certain nervous laugh ringing out of you.

"Oh, I bet we could hire that vendor down the street to sell us an illegal magic carpet and it'll gladly whisk your unconscious self down the aisle," Harry says.

"Oh, Harry!" You playfully punch him and look over your shoulder at your reflection. I think I just heard both Harry and I sigh with longing.

_He loved you too, didn't he? He had something to do with the end of us._

"I've never felt like this since… Well… Yule Ball!"

"You look just as beautiful as you did at Yule Ball, Hermione."

"Of course, the prettiest witch of all, that night," I say.

"Oh, you two! Trying to flatter me and everything. Mind you, I'll be off the market once this day ends."

I move to make a sarcastic remark but Ginny Weasley interrupted, barging into the room and telling us that Ron needed some help.

Harry kisses you on the cheek and hugs you again, smiling that smile of his, which has always brought out the happiness on your face. I kiss you too, though my kiss is one of a lover, teasing and scandalous yet subtle. I embrace you once more and quietly say what I always wanted to tell you, ever since that dreadful night and the years that have passed us like rude strangers in the train station.

"What?" you say, confusion set in those beautiful eyes of yours.

"Oh nothing," I say. "You'll remember…"

You smile, confused and worried.

_You will remember, if it's the death of me._

I walk out the door with Harry and Ginny.

I walk away from you.

I walk to the man you will soon wed.

I walk to the man who'll have the opportunity to love what once was mine and mine alone.

I walk to the man which I wish was me.

And tears form in my eyes, tears that I let the others see. These tears have been locked inside me for years and they suddenly pour out as my soul weeps gently while my heart is severely beaten down.

"Bit emotional there, mate?" Harry says, tauntingly.

"Shut up, Potter," I say.

Yes, shut up Harry Potter. You don't know the war that's fighting itself within me right now. I know you know of trial and tribulation. I know you know of pain and suffering. I know you know of loss and hardship. I know you know of everything single bloody thing in the world but you are wrong.

You don't know what it is like to have love, be loved, and to love to the unchartered limits of the world and have it taken away from you and you could do absolutely _nothing _about it.

You don't know what it is like to have Hermione Granger in your arms and in your heart and in your head and in your blood and have it all taken away from you and you didn't do anything about it.

You don't know what it is like to stand here, on this very day, the day you'll be seeing your soul mate ripped away from you by the hands of fate and be sent to another man who is extremely undeserving of such luck.

You don't know what it is like to have someone care for you in such a way that your frozen heart was melted and your world was turned upside down and inside out. You don't know. You have no bloody idea.

I know, Harry Potter. I know all this. I know it all because I've been carrying this load on my back ever since I lost her and I choose to carry it still, for a flame inside of me still flickers for her and it is one that is to never be killed.

I know what it is like to love someone so much and watch them be obliviated of all the memories and feelings you've shared with her and you could do nothing but watch. I know what it is like to completely hate a man, especially the man who obliviated her. I know what it is like to kill a man, to tear him to pieces in such an inhumane way. I know what it is like to feel guilt, feel remorse, feel embarrassed when you are handed an award that honors your bravery when you know you murdered heartlessly.

I know all this. This is my past, present, and future. This is who I am.

I am a wreck and this day is the day to end all my days.

When the priest asks if anyone believes this sacred bond between man and wife is wrong, I don't know what I will do.

Hermione, let me watch you walk down the aisle. Let me wish that I was the man waiting for you at the end. Let me wish that I was not just one of the grooms men. Let me wish all my foolish heart desires.

Let me remember when you loved me, and only me and I was the happiest human alive.

I wish you will remember the same too.

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Author Says: It's a bit… OOC, don't you think? Well, I like it. I wonder if you guys and gals will too, Review. Tell me what you think. Suggest something. Your idea just might find itself in this fanfiction. This is for you, guys. And I assure you, I will **not** let this be a one shot alone.

Happy early Thanksgiving! Gobble gobble:)

Sinfully and eloquently yours,

_Tinsadisaster _


	2. I Wanted A Miracle

**Remember When?**

_Tinsadisaster_

Summary: Remember when you loved me? DMHG

_**Words from the Author: I finally had time to update my stories so here goes my second update of the day:D Check out The Love Connection, as well. I just wanted to say this chapter was possibly an orgy of all my thoughts, feelings, emotions, whatever from the past several months. It may be a mess but I hope it's a very beautiful mess.**_

Disclaimer: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for some of the concept in creating this fanfiction, though not all of it. JKR for the characters and the magical world. To HIM, the boy who never fails to inspire me to write stories for the moments in which he does not love me the way I want him to.

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**There's so much more about you that you never let them see  
**

**You turn away  
**

**But not to me  
**

**And I know how they tried to take you  
**

**Held you up and meant to break you down  
**

**But you can't be**

**"Become" Goo Goo Dolls**

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You told me you loved mint-chocolate chip ice cream and walks along the school lake. You told me you disliked Quidditch but loved the nooks and crannies of the library. You told me you secretly read romance novels with bronze, brawny men on the book covers catching, holding, rescuing voluptuous, beautiful women.

You told me many things and I haven't forgotten.

Not a single word.

You said I was cursed with the anti-hero complex.

I said I just really hated Potter and his holier-than-thou personality.

(But secretly, I wanted to be him.)

You said when you were six years old, you fell from a cherry tree and that is why you are afraid of heights, of Quidditch, and of airplanes (I still don't know what those are).

You said on the first day of Hogwarts, you saw me and fell in love with my hair; just my hair, not me. You said it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and felt. I said you were crazy and you should get away from my mane.

You told me you feared mirrors, talking or not. You said they told the truth and though you were strong spiritually, you could not stand their judgement. You avoided the mirrors in the Heads' Bathroom at all times. You said you didn't like the girl you saw because her hair was too bushy, her teeth too crooked, her thighs too jiggly, her skin too pale.

You told me so many things and I have failed to forget them.

Every thing that my mind associates with you and the memory of you, haunts me in my daily life. The hair brush, the bathroom mirror, the toothbrush, the cat hair on the bed sheets, the everything.

And I speak like you're dead but you're not; not really. You're just gone from my life and that speaks volumes enough.

With your absence lingering in every corner, every stone of my house, I feel the weight of silence and loneliness tear at my soul till there is barely enough of it left. With your ghost turning corners while I chase it, I find myself lost within my own home. With your voice singing me a lullaby every time I close my eyes to sleep, I want to open my eyes and see you there, singing to me, physically there.

And I think I'm going crazy without you here.

And I grasp onto the memories, the singular theme that you were mine once, that I had you in my arms once, that I woke up to you in the morning once, that I felt the touch of your caress once, that I loved you and you loved me once.

And I remember the fear – that imminent fear, always chasing us like we were doing something wrong. The fear of society eternally on our tails, the fear of my father's cruelty continually following us down the hallways, the fear of reactions at every corner of our lives.

But that is all we are now. We are a memory, a memory to be stored in a box hidden behind the box of Christmas decorations rotting in a broom closet somewhere.

We are of the past, only the past. We are not of the present or of the future.

But I am forced to live in the present, always fearing the loneliness promised in the future. Because I am stupid, stubborn and still in love with you.

I did not make a big commotion at your wedding.

I did not scream "I love you, please don't marry him!" at the right time, at all.

I did not make a single, fucking sound.

I did not smile, because my smiles are only reserved for you, not for the whole public magical world.

And I did nothing at all to hint that I had feelings for you.

It was the fear – the consequences of the actions that I had planned to take were too scary for my limitations of bravery.

I almost believed you would stop in your tracks, run towards the altar, push Ron away and climb into my arms, showering me with kisses and "I miss yous."

But you didn't. You never. You smiled at him, that special smile that you promised was only reserved for me. You liar.

I thought I knew true suffering when I was forced to witness my own mother's execution. The woman who gave me life – executed by the man who "loved" her, my father. But when I witnessed your wedding, the wounds ripped open all over again, bleeding and bleeding still, down my robes, puddles of it surrounding me, flooding the church floor, touching the high heels of the witches, licking the boots of the men. It was everywhere. My pain was everywhere, my pain flooding, my pain stinking up the ceremony.

Ron said, "I do." The knife inserted itself, right in my gut. You said, "I do." The knife twisted, the pain it emoted nothing compared to the simultaneous moment in which my heart shriveled up and shrunk.

The minister pronounced you husband and wife. The mouth of hell opened up beneath us all, swallowing the pews, the unsuspecting guests, the candles, the ribbons, the fire, the altar, the minister, the other groomsmen, everything and everyone. Even you.

And I saw myself in total blackness. Black in all directions, no sign of light anywhere, no grain of light guiding me to the exit. Never, always, forever in darkness.

And my father's voice: "She never loved you. You're just a stupid little boy, with hopes and desires I thought I squelched years ago. You'll die a lonely wizard, my boy. We Malfoys always die alone. It is the Malfoy curse."

And me, screaming, screaming wildly, calling out to you, calling your name, calling for help, calling for Potter, calling for God, calling for Merlin, for anyone who'd just help me.

Potter shook me, saying, "Y'alright, mate? Looking a bit green in the gills. You need to sit down or something?"

The sadistic images fell away, the guests, the settings, the floor repaired itself. The blackness turned into light, into a wedding, into a church, into a sugar-coated hell.

I muttered that I was fine.

Potter and I were the only ones left in the church, I noticed.

The guests had apparated to the reception.

Everyone had disappeared, for real this time.

Potter looked at me, genuine worry in his eyes, always genuine because he was Harry-fucking-pure-Potter. He hugged my shoulders, helped me walk down from the altar, apparated us to the reception.

And I whispered to myself, "When will this torture end?"

Potter heard but decided to keep any comment to himself.

He nodded, a gesture that meant nothing in our current situation, and opened the doors, smiled for the cameras, lied for the occassion, and entered the reception room.

The doors closed and I heard the music, silently, smothered behind the wooden doors.

I wanted to run away, to breathe, but I did not.

Those doors symbolized acceptance that I would not get what I wanted, that what I wanted was never meant for me, that I could try but I would get nowhere.

I pushed them open, entered the ceremony, entered my hell once again.

I remember the light blinding me, the glare of the lights forcing my eyes to dilate, the shock penetrating my whole body, the nervous impulses shooting to every limb of my body, to my heart beating like a drummer on meth.

I remember that I loved you, that I love you still.

But do you remember that you loved me?

Do you?


	3. Moving On?

**Remember When? **

**Part III**

_Tinsadisaster_

Summary: Remember when you loved me? DMHG

**Words from thee greatest bleeding heart of all time**: I just updated The Love Connection and decided it unfair that I didn't update this fanfiction so here I am, slaving away in front of the computer screen, for the enjoyment of you, the person half way around the world or down my street. I never mentioned before how much writing these fanfictions and getting reviews back means so much to me – knowing your work is being appreciated and noted gives an author such a burst of happiness, it's unbelievable. So thank you, to all that read my stories and comment on them, because when I open my email and find your words of encouragement, I step down from my pillar of laziness and actually put my silly mind to work. Thank you. Enough of my ranting because here comes the third installment of "Remember When?"

Disclaimer: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, JKR.

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_**Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?**_

- E. A. Poe

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My dreams are a wish-wash of bright color, droning voices, screams, faces, blood and stinging pain. And those are just the good ones, the better ones.

I don't experience nightmares, like most people do. I experience motion pictures, with full-on hues, echoing noise, background orchestra music, and clipped glimpses of her face, her touch, her smell, her essence and her screams. Sometimes I find us two, drifting in the waters of a deep, black ocean and no matter how hard I force my weather-beaten body to swim towards her, she always seems to be drifting farther and farther away, until she is no longer visible, until she is just a dot in the horizon. Then, I see the shark fins surround me and I wait for the terrible pain of sharp teeth tearing me apart. I wait and I wait and I wait but the pain never comes because it is then when I wake up, panting hard, tears flowing down my cheeks, my heartbeat drumming away, and my senses on high. I am saved from the pain in my dreams, which must be a reward of some sorts but what have I ever done to deserve a reward such as that? Immunity from pain is a reward given to gods, which I know I am not.

These visions are not the ordinary post-traumatic syndrome caused by traumatic experiences such as, oh, the second Dark War, in which all my friends and family died and I came out alive because I went away into hiding with my godfather, ran away from him too, to find refuge with the Good Guys. These visions, these hallucinations, these nightmares are my reminder that I am still alive, still hurting and still humanely flawed. I don't need self-mutilation to tell me that I'm still living in this godforsaken world because one glance from a mother and young child shopping in Diagon Alley is enough to kick me in the guts. One threatened-looking glare, a motion to move the unsuspecting child closer, a hurrying of steps, an un-planned step into the candy store; this is enough to tell me I'm still alive, still the bad guy disguised in sheep's skin, still the DeathEater's boy, still the one-who-may-not-be-forgiven.

Usually I don't care what others think of me, a talent that I learned from my younger years, but the War put me in such a weak condition that my talents went into dystrophy and I was no longer the untouchable, ultra bastard Draco Malfoy. Now I was the only Malfoy, the last of his terrible, corrupt race, the one you could mock and taunt without fear of death coming your way, the one who had no backbone but would survive to his last dying day. I was the last chance for the Malfoy clan, the last one who could do good, be great and very cliché, be loved. Now everybody could think what they wanted of me because they knew I would do nothing about it, would just stare and take it all in. They wish to break me, in revenge for the ways I destroyed them when I was young, but all they can do is try and try and try and stupidly don't realize that I already am broken, destroyed, shattered. They don't realize I'm already damaged goods.

Damaged goods.

She hated the way I used to say that. She'd say that I was not, that I was perfectly manufactured, perfectly working goods. Then I'd teasingly ask her in a sultry voice, "_Baby, what kind of goods are we talking about here?_" And she'd giggle and I'd run after her and things were good for a while because she'd distract me from destroying myself with undeserving, pitiful, self-mutilating thoughts.

But now she's not around to stop me so I can destroy myself all I want. And somehow I appeal to women, as the broken war man, the one with the "Please Fix Me" tattooed on his forehead, the one with war wounds that they thought they could mend but once they mended those, realized there were gashes so deep that none of their loving and their spells would be enough to save me.

Those words trigger several memories in my mind – those two words – save me. They bring me to the times in which Hermione and I severely fought, verbally, physically, spiritually.

"_You aren't the only one with problems, Draco Malfoy,_" she screamed at me.

"_You don't understand, you stupid little bint. You couldn't. Your life is so perfect, so fabulous, so moral that you couldn't possibly understand the things I am going through right now!_" I replied.

Then she'd slap, punch, and claw her way at me, though not hurting me that much. She'd attack me till she was tired and zapped out of energy. She'd fall to her knees and whimper, saying, "_If only you would open up to me, then I could save you..._"

And in my anger, I say, "_I'm not a thing to be saved, Granger. I'm not a wounded little bunny in the forest, not an owl with a broken wing, not your two clumsy, trouble-ridden friends. I didn't ask to be saved, don't want to be saved and don't need to be saved. Especially by you._"

And then I'd storm off, leaving her ruined on her knees, hearing her sobs from the other side of the door, which I slammed purposefully. And every time I would debate to myself, whether I should go back in the room and apologize or ignore her and find my friends.

Our fights were a variation of what I just described. It always ended with me running away, unable to comfort her at her time of need. But fights are temporary and resolutions are inevitable. I'd sulk around for a few days, realizing how boring and uneventful my life was without her around, and then finally I'd just put my pride in my back pocket and go to her, asking for redemption. And she'd always let me back into her life, which I know now is impossible because I no longer am her life, no longer the center of it, no longer an important part.

000

I woke up to another sunny day and one second of hearing the chirpy birds, seeing the blinding sunlight, the feel of loneliness stalking nearby was enough for me to wish I really hadn't woken up, that I had died in my sleep.

After walking around a bit, I become conscious of all the bottles of alcohol in my apartment, knowing that I was hung over again after a long night of Firewhiskey and wizard pornography on the magicked TV. I drink a bit of hang-over-remedy, which tastes absolutely like shit, and wash up. I get dressed and head out, knowing that there would be no food in the cupboards and that I could always apparate to Potter's house and eat my heart out there.

Big mistake.

I popped into the Potter residence and needed only a second to regret my decision because I could hear voices other than Potter's laughing and chattering in the kitchen. It was her voice, her light laughter, her small talk.

They were back from the honeymoon.

"Oi, Malfoy, is that you?" Potter says out loud, just as I am about to disapparate but I am stopped when the three of them walk into the living room.

I am caught, a deer trapped in the headlights.

000

Breakfast is over but I'm feeling a bit sick in the stomach. While I was eating my heart out, as I said before, I notice from the corner of my eye, the way they touch each other, hold each other, send secret messages through their eyes, and tease each other. They were absolutely disgusting together and I wanted to vomit up whatever was churning in my stomach, which was an appealing thought in the situation that I was in.

"Now, Draco, tell me what you've been up to lately. Any witches that you've dated and dropped? Any marriage proposals? Job promotions? Anything? Give me all the dirt, you wanker," she says, in a light-hearted kind of way.

_Well, while you were off humping the Weasel, I was in my apartment, wanking to witch-on-witch movies, thinking of if you cloned yourself and had sex with your clone, drinking a shitload amount of alcohol, which is sure to give me liver cancer very soon, and basically living in melancholy because I'm lonely and you're not._

"Nothing really. I've got bills that haven't been paid yet…" I say. Poof, I tell myself. Weak response.

"Oh – okay."

Absolutely bored. You are absolutely bored. You want nothing to do with me because I'm a boring piece of crap. Absolutely bored. I can see it in your eyes. You're absolutely bored with me.

"Err… Do you want to do something this afternoon? Maybe go buy a dragon illegally or something?" I say, hoping to redeem myself, hoping to make myself seem interesting and un-boring.

You laugh, because of my humor or either that you think I'm an absolute fool.

"No, sorry, I can't. Ron and I are planning to buy some furniture for our apartment. And he probably won't remember since you know Quidditch is on his brain like every single living second…"

And suddenly, I can't hear you anymore because I've decided to shut off my hearing skills. You and Ron are buying furniture, which is a symbolic event in a relationship because it signifies commitment and forever, which is something I don't wish for you two. I smile and laugh and say "Yeah," hoping it'll fill in all the gaps in your one-sided conversation.

Then I excuse myself and apparate home, where I rush to the bathroom and finally heave all the alcohol, eggs, bacon, orange juice, water, and disgusting Ron-Hermione information into the toilet bowl. Ah, peace everlasting.

000

Feeling a bit more social, I walk around in the local park, attracting strange-looking birds and desperate, married women, while still in a semi-hung-over stage.

While weaving myself out of a conversation with one of those desperate, married women, I turn away quickly and run into a beautiful jogger.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly.

The jogger, with the thickest eyelashes and strangest blue-grey eyes, which are quite like mine, smiled and said it was all okay.

It was all okay.

I'm triggered into another one of those philosophical, catatonic states I'm usually in when I looked into myself, in a manner called introspection in psychological terms. The beautiful jogger says it is all okay but I take that comment in deeper, connecting it with my life.

It was okay that I was a lonely, desperate bastard jerk wanker.

It was okay that I was sad and jealous of Hermione's marriage.

It was okay that I ran into this beautiful jogger and felt she was semi-attractive.

It was okay that I was already thinking of sleeping with her.

It was all okay.

And just as I was ripped into the trance suddenly, I was throw back out suddenly. I see that the woman is a bit shocked and I apologize for my auto-pilot stage and ask her out to dinner, brazenly.

And what happened next, the exchange of information, the names, the time, the everything, was a blur and it was only when the jogger ran away did I realize I just waded into a possible relationship, that was not with Hermione at all, without fear.

Perhaps it was just a rebound-thing, an act used to fight my jealousy for Hermione and Ron's lovey-doveyness. Perhaps it was just a natural thing, seeing as I'm not a terribly ugly wizard at all and she was a beauty all in her own. Beauty plus beauty equals possibility, perhaps. Perhaps it was all a dream, a good dream, in which my subconscious was finally fighting back against the melancholy and sorrow that was invading ever inch of my life.

And perhaps I was finally getting over the fact that I still loved Hermione but she did not love me back and that she loved Ron and Ron loved her. Or perhaps I was just being an analytical little bastard again, tricking my heart and mind that I was perfectly okay when I was still a broken, destroyed, ruined, broken-hearted little bastard jerk wanker.

Love is such a foolish little evading thing, I realize out loud. The posh, married, desperate women sitting nearby made tut-tut sounds and I run away before their hands found their way to my pants' back pocket, where my pride was hiding.

Do I still want you to remember that you loved me?

I don't know anymore.

Then again, I'm still in a hung-over state and not thinking in my right mind.

Nevertheless, …

Do I?


	4. The Malfoy Graveyard

**Remember When**

PART 4: The Malfoy Graveyard

_Tinsadisaster_

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Summary: Remember when you loved me? DMHG

Disclaimer: All I own is my procrastinating, lazy, and unpunctual self.

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**You made up your mind to leave it all behind**

**Now you're force to fight it out**

**You fall away from your past**

**But it's following you**

The Fray - _Fall Away_

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A slit of light escapes two nearly closed doors, revealing figures in a passionate embrace. A pale, blonde-haired man with an unidentified curvaceous woman, dancing the intimate dance of lovers, enthusiastic and thunderously loud, grace the scene. The man stands behind the woman, buried deep within her, and she, her hands clawing at the dining room's stone table, searches for a ledge to hold as she loses control.

He slides into her, once more, nearly having a stroke at the feel of absolute warmth. He hears her none-too-silent whimpers of pleasure, feels her legs quiver and her knees ready to give. His face screws itself into a pained expression, though this is the best pain he has felt in quite a while. He thrusts deeper, triggering a catalytic response of moans, waves and waves of warmth, and explosion, in her. He struggles to keep his control but a few strokes later, he screams a name, in delight, an ocean of heat enveloping his essence, and it does not register in his mind that he has made a mistake.

She becomes stiff and he can feel it.

He asks, "What's wrong?" in between fast pants.

"Get off me." She lifts her upper body off the dining room table, wrapping her arms around her exposed breasts, forcing him to evacuate her completely. She scrambles away from him, gathering clothing and rearranging herself to look presentable. He is perplexed, pulling his trousers up, and searches for the shirt that she ripped from his body only minutes before.

"What's bloody wrong with you?"

"This was a mistake, a terrible mistake," she says, now fully dressed and angry. Her eyes are a fiery brown and he feels her gaze burn his skin.

"How can you say that?" he replies, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Who is Hermione?" she asks him, irritability sketched on her face.

"What?" He wonders how she could possibly even ask that.

"You screamed her name, you bastard. You screamed _her_ name, not mine."

"I did?" _Impossible_, he thinks.

She pauses, a wondrous expression playing on her face. "Do you even know my name?"

"I—"

She disapparates before he can reply.

"I don't know," he whispers into the air. "I'm sorry."

* * *

"Feeling okay, mate?" Potter asks him the next morning.

No, he does not feel okay. He feels like the dust mingled in with the dirt underneath his expensive, authentic leather shoes. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, a nervous tick at the corner of his mouth and the weight of the world on his shoulder, crushing his body and soul. He is depressed and unkept, a poster child for melancholy.

"No," he responds. He shuffles paper around, hoping Potter will drop the subject.

"You don't look it, that's for sure."

"I'm aware of that, Potter."

"I guess that date didn't go very well."

"How'd you know about it? You're not reading my thoughts, right?" he asks the raven-haired former-superhero.

"No. Actually, Hermione saw you out and about, last night. She said you weren't alone, so I assumed."

"Where?"

"She and Ron went to the restaurant you went to, I guess. She told me they arrived as soon as you two disapparated. 'Draco and his date seemed like they were in quite a hurry,' she said."

He smiles a sad smile, saying, "Yeah."

It means nothing, neither a positive nor negative response, but it's good enough because the subject is dropped and the only sound in the office is a shuffling of papers and a droning hum. Draco's sorrow is silent yet it fills the room like a smog of unhappiness, of "let's not talk about it," and of "save me from myself." But the request remains smothered by a stubborn pride and the raven-haired superhero can't save the helpless citizen sitting across from him.

Draco thinks, _Even you can't save me, Potter. _

Green eyes stare at him and Draco knows Potter read his mind then.

"I can't save those who aren't willing to be saved," Potter says.

Draco doesn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

_The Malfoy Graveyard_, the gates read in Latin. He passes the threshold of the gates and breathes in the scent of secrets, heartache, silent love, promises broken, and death.

He walks among the dead and feels at ease. Here, problems are buried so deep that they should never be able to arise. The green grass and wild flowers hug the tombstones, a tiny irony easily surpassed. The living embrace the dead. He is an irony easily surpassed.

There was no embrace for him, from the living or the dead.

He stops in the shade of a willow tree and falls to his knees. He pulls the leaves apart, reveals two tombstones. In beautiful calligraphy, they read "Lucius Malfoy" and "Narcissus Malfoy."

"Hi father, mother. The prodigal son has returned and he has nothing to survive on, anymore."

The only reply he receives is the cry of the wind.

"It's just like you, to give me the cold shoulder. Everything you ever gave me was cold.Even your love was cold."

Salty, warm tears fall onto the dirt, seeping into the earth and disappearing. They disappear like they never existed, never fell.

"She doesn't remember a thing but I remember everything. She is on my mind like a cancer that hides into remission but reappears when I think I've recovered completely. She's killing me, a little bit more each day. She really has no idea. Her disregard is like a spell that's recast, over and over again, and the pain grows stronger the weaker I get."

The wind hugs him, with a frosty warmth, and tells him _it's never going to be completely okay._

The wind shakes the willow tree and a parade of green falls on him. In the sea of green, he picks out a white flower, something extraordinary. He's tempted to smell it but he think he's already too much of a sap and crushes the piece of beauty.

"I'm sorry," a voice from behind says. Startled, he gets off his knees and faces the intruder.

A vision in white, passionate brown eyes and white flowers in her hands.

The symbol of purity and pain, the apple of his eye and the arrow piercing his heart, and the one he lost twice.

He can barely breath, at this climatic moment.

She smiles and replies, "Hello, Draco."

The wind passes by him, whispering in his ears, _I lied._

He smiles too.

"Hello, Hermione."

* * *

Thanks for reading, my lovely! Please review, as well! MWAUHS!

Neurotically yours,

Tinsadisaster


	5. The Importance of Remembering

**Remember When?  
**_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary**: Remember when you loved me? DMHG

**Disclaimer**: I own Harry Potter and all its characters in my dreams. I just give them back to JKR when I wake up.

**Author's Note:**  
My lovely, loyal readers. I know this story is about a year or so belated in updates. This has been one of my most successful fanfictions and I've recently been inspired to be able to say,"I am a fanfiction writer with a COMPLETED story!" So here is a little something something.

* * *

**Now people say that he don't look well **

**But all he needs, from what I can tell **

**is someone to help wash away the pain **

**... before it's too late**

_Norah Jones_ - "Broken"

* * *

Draco froze. He felt like he was suspended in time as she walked towards him, holding flowers in her hand. The frosty wind swirled around him, encasing him in that ever so powerful embrace that made him feel numb, as if he had been standing in this position for a very long time, waiting for her to come back to him.

"I came because I remembered," she said.

Shock pierced Draco's heart like a bloodthirsty sword. He bled relief and at the same time, disbelief. His Hermione remembered? Was his time of pain and torture over?

No.

"I remember that your mother and father died today, and I wanted to console you, as well as visit them. Though they really weren't very fond of me, I think they deserve respect nonetheless. Look at who've they raised," she chuckled lightly.

What had they raised? A pansy? An isolated fool who melted at the sight of a woman, a Muggle?

He looked at her, as if she was gone for a very long time, gone on a vacation to somewhere where the sun gloated in its brightness and the skies were never threatened with angry clouds and loud thunderstorms. She had gone away but she was back.

"Why do you stare at me like that, Draco?" She was nervous, he could tell. Her fingers had wrapped themselves around the stems of the white roses that she brought tightly, like a snake and its prey. Her flimsy white robes flailed in the wind and it seemed she was being pushed towards him.

"I'm... surprised," he replied weakly. She still had the power to make him completely illiterate, had him straining to let out the right words, any words.

"I know. After all this celebration, who'd think to remember the past, you know?" She held his hand, squeezed a little, and let go to lay down her peace offering before the tombstones whose faces elegantly were inscribed with the names Narcisuss Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy. She stared at the numbers recording their lives and frowned. They were too young.

"I hope you are doing well, Mister and Mrs. Malfoy. We're trying our hardest to do the same," she said quietly to the inanimate rock that was to represent Draco's blood and flesh, his family. She bowed her head for a few seconds before lifting herself up to her full height again'

"I don't want to be a liar. Tell me, how are you doing?" She stared at him, hopeful for an answer.

"I've been doing as well as I should, seeing the situation that I am in," Draco said. He managed a small upturn of a lip that should have resembled a smile, or a smirk at best. He felt as if he was playing Quiddith, really. He was among the clouds right now, and the thing he wanted to hold with his hands was just a breath away, but had he the courage and the luck to take it and win?

"You were probably startled when you saw me just appear out of nowhere. I was actually worried you had kept up your vicious security charms. Your home, and you, they seem almost the same. People have to climb over so many walls before they get to the heart of the matter," she said. Hermione always had figured him out. To the world, he was a mystery enclosed in a Pandora's box. She was the curious little witch who opened him up and let him ruin her world.

"For the past week, I've woken up with this nagging feeling, like I had forgotten something very important. It bothered me so well that I just had to cast a remembrance spell to finally figure it out. I had circled this date in my planner and there was this little comment scrawled down next to it. It said, 'See Malfoy.' I didn't which one, but I came nonetheless."

"Thank you, Hermione. Only you would have remembered my parents' death day. It's getting rather brisque out here, would you like to come inside and join me for tea?" asked Draco. Was it pathetic that he was sweating bullets, just asking her inside his home?

"Hah, I think you'll have to hold my hand. I don't know what ghouls will pop up from behind these tombstones. Given my blood status, your relatives will literally be rolling out of their graves, only to escape and attack me." She offered her hand, which he took lightly, though it slipped. His palms were sweaty.

"If I didn't know, I'd say you've been bawling your eyes out, Draco. Don't think I forgot how you like to cry. You never had the bravery to let me see you cry, at Hogwarts. You always turned the other way and covered your face with your hands. Though you heaved and panted, you'd never take your hands away. I swear, you passed out one night because you wouldn't let yourself breathe."

He pretended to scowl at her, as he used to when they were seventeen and on shaky ground. But he smiled quickly and grabbed her hand, successfully this time. He guided her around the graveyard and towards Malfoy Manor. It was a short walk, but he wished it would never end.

What he would give to be able to hold her hand freely again.

_I never could breathe when I was with you, Hermione. You always took my breath away._

* * *

Draco was thinking silently as they walked towards their destination. Hermione said she remembered this certain day, that it had pecked at her mind. She used a remembrance spell. She had somehow remembered to write down that little note, probably a while ago. Was her memory coming back? Or had it been the work of magic?

More importantly, was there magic strong enough to make her remember him, them?

"Things have changed since the last time I was here," Hermione murmured, gazing at the ivy crawling up and down the Malfoy Manor's foundation. The bushes had run wild, the thorned stems of the roses poked at odds and ends.

"I've been too preoccupied to bother with keeping up the place. Besides, for whom would I do all that?"

"Well, you must be dating someone. My own housemates used to throw themselves at you. I hardly think you're lacking in the female companion department."

Lacking? He was drowning almost, but they were never the right kind. Hermione was the one standard that he compared all others. How could anyone fill in her shoes?

"Well, I could introduce you to some of Ron's psychotic fans. I swear, those women wait up till Merlin knows what hour just to see a glimpse of him when he's home. You'd think they were obsessed. Ron's just a Quiddith player, and I doubt they want to see him for his Weasley Feints."

He had avoided this subject, particularly for the reason that he hated Ron Weasley, had always hated him, and never planned to change his feelings. His mood had turned sour, just as they had entered the dining hall. If he knew Hermione correctly, she would never take tea here. There was only one place --

"Let's go to the kitchen, shall we? I believe there is only one place to have tea, straight from the pot." She was the one to drag now, pulling his hands and guiding him towards his kitchen. Draco wondered if she noticed. They were the only magical souls in his home.

"Do my eyes deceive me or does Mr. Malfoy not employ house elves?" He nodded and she smiled brilliantly at him. She said that her years of shoving S.P.E.W. down her throat finally worked.

He had been living alone ever since he had made Hermione forget and his parents died. However, there were ghosts roaming the halls. His ancestors spat at his shoes and looked down upon them, even if they lacked bodily fluids and body parts.

She made a strange noise, which sounded like squealing, and threw her arms around his shoulders, which was a difficult task, as she was significantly shorter than his tall frame. An apparition nearby scowled at their embrace and scurried along to warn the other occupants that a Mudblood had contaminated their roaming grounds.

Draco reciprocated the gesture and moved his hands around her waist. He involuntarily curled his head towards her hair, smelling the alluring shampoo she used. His eyes caught something over her shoulder and he saw their reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. What a lovely sight, he thought.

"Now that's over with, let me have my tea so that I can be off on my way. I'm awfully busy, but I wasn't too busy to see you."

_Good girl, you always made time for me._

"No, Hermione Granger, I will never let you have your tea so you'll never be on your way. I will trap you in the dungeons so you'll stay with me, forever."

"Malfoy, you were always a flirt. And remember, I'm a married woman now. Now let me go, your great aunt is giving me a piercing glare. I think she disapproves of me."

"No, no, her face was permanently charmed that way. Nasty charm created by her son. He was such a wand-happy child. Never liked being told what to do, but knew what to do to take the mickey out of his mother." He never met this rowdy little cousin because the carefree spirit had run way from his parents' home and was burned from the family tree.

* * *

He watched her retreating figure disappear into a dot in the horizon. He insisted that she take one of his cloaks to keep her warm because the only apparition accessible point was a walk beyond the gate of the Manor. His father didn't care who had come in, just that they wouldn't be allowed to leave if they were the wrong type of people.

He served her tea and she gave him happiness, but now she was leaving.

However, she had also given him hope. She told him what remembrance spell she used and how she created it, even scribbled down some notes for him. He told her that he wanted to make one of his own.

"Now why would you want to do that?" she asked him, through a mouthful of pumpkin pecan pie.

"I know someone who needs to remember something very important, but they need my help to do so."

What an understatement, he thought.

_Hermione Granger, be prepared. I've hid behind my hands for too long. I'm ready to show myself to you, completely. The question is, will you have me still?_


End file.
